


The Dirty Delicate

by kenzieann27



Series: Labor Day 2020 Fics [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), M/M, Mentioned Beverly Marsh, Mentioned Richie Tozier, Mentioned Sonia Kaspbrak, Mentioned Stanley Uris, Mild Blood, Minor Injuries, Minor Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, Past Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26282407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenzieann27/pseuds/kenzieann27
Summary: After a rather fateful fistfight, Mike ends up on- of all places- Eddie Kaspbrak's front porch, unsure of what to ask for and where to go from there.
Relationships: Mike Hanlon/Eddie Kaspbrak
Series: Labor Day 2020 Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922260
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11
Collections: Labor Day Book Quote Challenge (2020)





	The Dirty Delicate

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for the subpar summary, but it's finally here! I've spent forever working on this!
> 
> And, of course, this fic is dedicated to my lovely friend Zani, who has been waiting for this fic to be finished just about as long as I have been.

Mike Hanlon was not a fighter. He could sense it from the day he was born, he could sense it every time people gave him looks as he passed by them, he could sense it when he missed out on things simply because he was, well, Mike Hanlon.

 _It's not worth it_ , he would tell himself as a way to remain the person they didn't want him to be. _It's not worth it_.

On the day that it _did_ become worth it, however, it was a rather difficult decision to make. Then again, no one insulted one of Mike's friends and simply got away with it. The entire ordeal was something of a blur, and any old exceptions to that rule had been broken and gone as quickly as the fight began and as frightfully as the fight had ended.

Mike didn't mean for it to happen, of course.

The minute he realized he was standing on that doorstep, Mike had wanted to turn around and go home. He had wanted to be anywhere else in the world, anywhere other than this house.

Though they had been part of the same friend group for the past three years, as of late the usually tight-knit group of friends had grown ever so slightly apart due to the dramatics that come with being sixteen years old. No one understood why, especially not Mike, but it all seemed to stem from some form of relationship drama that he was very uninterested in getting involved with

Ah, to be young.

Mike had realized he made a mistake by going to, of all places, resident hypochondriac Eddie Kaspbrak's house when he noticed the blood on his knuckles as he knocked softly on that white front door.

"What happened?" a panicked voice asked, causing Mike to be drawn back to the present and out of his mind that nearly always went fuzzy at this house. He stared at the person in front of him, someone he used to describe as resembling a small child; well, back when he hadn't gone through a rather substantial growth spurt and grown a foot over the height Mike was first familiar with.

Everything else about this person, of course, was exactly the same. From his dark eyes and dark hair to his uniquely colorful sense of fashion, there was no doubting that this was Eddie Kaspbrak.

Neither of them really understood the distance between them; the teenage drama had, for the most part, eluded Mike. Oftentimes, he was the mediator for petty differences and the comforting shoulder to cry on for rough breakups. Late nights, early mornings, Mike Hanlon had been through it all with his friends; and, as much as he loved them, it was always a daunting task to support them in ways he was unfamiliar with or with things he was unable to relate to.

However, standing roughly three feet away from his increasingly worried friend, Mike was suddenly aware of the position he was putting Eddie in. He couldn't bring himself to respond to Eddie's question, not verbally, instead choosing to shake his head, pleading in his thoughts (and with his eyes) for Eddie to invite him inside, to do _something_. Anything. Anything to get him away from the other unfortunate thoughts that were plaguing his mind.

"Mike, what happened?" Eddie asked again, though this time a bit more calmly. "Here, just- c'mon, let's get you cleaned up," he sighed, opening the door wider and motioning for the taller teen to enter the house.

Mike didn't know what to expect when he saw his face for the first time since the fight, though he supposed it shouldn't have been too much of a surprise to see his less-than-perfect self he was used to seeing when he glanced at a mirror. Of course, this was the mirror next to the stairs in Eddie's house, not his own. Those mirrors in the Hanlon house were well aware of Mike's ugly moments. Eddie's mirrors, though? Not so much.

The bloody nose was the star of the mixed-up piece of art that was Mike's face; front and center in all its terrible glory. The messy hair, the small stinging scratch on his cheek, the endless drops of blood, of sweat, the things that caked themselves on Mike's skin made it all too obvious what the young man had been up to. Of course, the opposing party in the fight didn't exactly walk away spotless and clean- no matter how much he would like to think, or wish, he didn't end up with what would eventually turn into a black eye and a bruised jaw- but it was difficult for Mike to think he was part of anything other than the losing side as the damages stared him right in the face.

"Fortunately for you, my mom's at work right now, so you don't really have to worry about her screaming at you for just, you know, existing." Eddie grabbed onto Mike's arm as he spoke, directing him up the stairs as Mike's attention was focused on keeping his bloody nose from staining the soft surfaces that practically lined Eddie's house. "You know where the bathroom is, just- I'll go get the first aid kit."

Making his way down the hall to the bathroom, Mike sighed as he sat on the edge of the bathtub and looked around for something to help clean up his nose and lessen the pain of his rapidly bruising cheekbone. Ultimately, he settled on a small handful of bathroom tissue and a wet cloth- for the time being, of course.

"Okay, so I couldn't find our _actual_ first aid kit, but I did find the backup one, so that's- okay, please tell me you're never considering a career in medicine." Eddie placed the small plastic box on the counter next to the sink, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater as he talked. "Are you going to say something?"

"You don't... I can take care of myself." Mike shrugged, avoiding looking at Eddie as he stared at the floor. "I just needed a minute to breathe, to- to think."

Eddie hummed in response, motioning for Mike to hand over the cloth he was holding against his cheek. "I was talking more about, like, saying something about the asshole that did that to your face, but I guess what you said was okay, too," he replied, rewetting the cloth in the sink and handing it back to Mike.

"It's kinda hard to think about anything other than just stopping my nose from bleeding," Mike reasoned, watching as Eddie looked through the contents of the first aid kit. "I don't really want to talk about the fight. I mean, there's not much to say about it- just some guy being ignorant."

"Why'd you end up here?" Eddie asked, pulling out a small bandage and taking a step towards Mike, opting to crouch in front of him as he waited for a response. "You know how much I hate doing this… you're my friend, so I love you, but, as I've told Richie, I'm not your personal fucking doctor."

The others wouldn't let me live it down If they knew- I mean," he sighed, looking up at Eddie. "I'm not exactly the fighting type. They'd all call me some badass or whatever and I'm not. I'm just an idiot for letting it get to me when it had nothing to do with me in the first place."

Eddie nodded as he listened, lifting up his hand to move Mike's away from his cheek. He held his breath as he gently applied the band-aid over a small scratch on his cheek, knowing full well how uncomfortable and awkward these intimate moments could be, especially between two people that had simply begun to grown apart.

He sighed as he took the cloth away from Mike, using it instead to wipe the blood off of his mouth. "And who did it have to do with, then?"

"I-" Mike paused, shaking his head as he noticed Eddie beginning to frown. "Okay, look, I didn't know it bothered me so much, I mean... it never bothers you, but I just-"

"I can fight my own fights, Mike," Eddie interrupted, gripping the cloth tighter as he continued to clean Mike's face. "I choose not to because I've dealt with it pretty much my whole life. I start throwing punches and I'm no better than the rest of them."

"Maybe it's not about you being better than them, Eddie. Maybe it's about showing them that you just don't say that shit about people."

"Maybe," he shrugged, standing back up. "There are just other things I should be caring about. Richie didn't get that, obviously, and now you don't, either."

"I'm not Richie," Mike muttered, shifting in his position on the edge of the tub. "This was different."

"I've had to do this with him how many times? Eleven?" Eddie shook his head, taking a breath as he rinsed the cloth out in the sink. "He said it was because he was trying to protect me, but it's just… if he wanted to protect _us_ , he'd just let the assholes say whatever shit they wanted to say. They're just looking for attention and he would just let them have it. And now you're doing the same thing. I don't need people to fucking protect me like I'm some helpless infant. I know what I'm doing, and no one ever respects that- not even you."

"You shouldn't have done that," Mike commented softly, nodding at the cloth as Eddie turned his head to look at him. "The blood'll leave a stain. Won't your mom notice?"

"I don't care," he shrugged, turning back and turning off the faucet. He continued his statement as he stared at the cloth, somewhat unsure of himself at that moment. "I, uh, I'll say it was juice or something. I don't- it's just my stupid mom."

"Your mom lets you drink juice?"

"I don't care, Mike," Eddie replied sharply, squeezing the excess water out of the cloth and returning back to his spot in front of the injured teen.

Mike didn't understand everything when it came to his friends, but one thing he knew about Eddie was that he was absolutely terrified of his mother. Though Mike had never personally met Sonia Kaspbrak (which he found strange enough, as he'd been friends with Eddie for the past three years), from the stories he'd heard from Bill and Richie, Eddie had every right to be afraid. She treated Eddie like he was made of glass, attempting with every fiber of her- according to Richie- very large being to smother out all of the courage that Eddie could have; for courage was dangerous, risky, _dirty_. But, then again, Eddie's mom must not know her son very well, as he reemerged from those smothered ashes every time with more courage than one person should have like a newborn phoenix ready for flight.

Well, Eddie Kaspbrak's version of courage.

To Eddie, courage was drinking a cold glass of milk even though his mother swore that he was lactose intolerant. Courage was petting an indescribably soft sheep on the Hanlons' farm despite him believing that they were nothing short of rabid beasts. Courage was dating a loudmouthed boy named Richie Tozier for an entire year, knowing full well Richie represented every single thing Sonia Kaspbrak despised. Richie was dangerous. Richie was risky. Richie was _dirty_.

And, according to his mother, Eddie needed to be protected from these things. Eddie was too _fragile_ to play in the mud. Eddie was too _small_ to ride a bike. Eddie was too _delicate_ to trust anyone other than his mother. According to her, Eddie was all the more delicate because he sometimes suspected he was not delicate at all; Eddie needed to be protected from his own dim imitations of possible bravery. Of drinking the milk, of petting the animals, of dating the boys. Of _living_.

"You okay, Eddie?" Mike asked softly, noticing a level of frustration starting to grow on his friend's face. "We can go to the store after this and get some new washcloths. It's- I think it's the least I could do for you.

"It's fine, Mike, really," he replied quickly, sighing as he struggled to keep Mike still as he wiped at his face. "My mom is just… she's a lot, but I can handle it on my own."

"I know, I know, I just- I'm sorry," Mike allowed the short awkward silence to fill the room taking the time to think of something, anything, to say to clear up the tension that he brought on. "Eddie, I-"

"It's fine, Mike, really." He reached over and grabbed Mike's hand, guiding it up to the cloth on his face as he stood up. "Here, just- just hold this for a minute. I'll go find you a new shirt," Eddie nodded at Mike's light green button-down, which was just about as big of a mess as the person wearing it was, before turning and walking out of the small bathroom.

* * *

Eddie Kaspbrak, in all of his self-described cleverness, didn't expect to see Mike in this specific state. He'd expected this from the more hot-headed members of their friend group- which he deduced to be Bill Beverly. Richie, and to a lesser extent, himself- but never Mike. Mike was nothing short of a tired old dog or a calm little lamb; either way, of course, he wasn't one to simply go off throwing punches with whatever bully he was so desperately protecting by not disclosing their name.

Still, as Eddie searched through the closet in his room for a shirt more Mike's size (and more importantly, style), he couldn't help but think that maybe it was something Mike would do All of the Losers had somewhat changed over the past few years since they've known each other, with their roles in their little group also having changed just as dramatically. Mike, though, had always been the protector of the group, always looking out for the rest of them no matter what they had been doing. And while Eddie, as of late, had issues with being the one the others were always trying to protect by default, he had to admit that having Mike around wasn't ever a bad thing. He wasn't protecting people in ways the others would, he'd never go around acting like a bodyguard, he just had this calming energy about him that granted him the unique ability to stave off negativity with a single shining look. A look that, if Eddie focused on it long enough, wasn't exactly one he'd call unattractive.

Shaking his head as he pulled a gaudy pink and yellow t-shirt off of its hanger, Eddie frowned as he recognized the garment (and, most unfortunately, that lingering scent of cigarettes and cheap cologne) before folding it over his arm and closing the door to his closet.

"Why did you have to do it?" he whispered to himself as he looked down at the shirt.

Eddie didn't want for Mike to go down this path; anyone other than him would have been fine, of course, but not him. Not the Mike that always answered Eddie's anxious late-night phone calls, that never treated anyone differently no matter who they were, that could brighten anyone's day with his innocence-filled smile. But the Mike that was sitting in the ugly blue bathroom down the hall from Eddie's bedroom, sadly, was not that Mike. But, to Eddie, it was strangely familiar; more of the same, despite the obvious differences. More of the same.

A new day, a different guy, the same exact thing.

 _I don't care anymore_ , Eddie would tell himself as those memories of the past year would come back to him. Mostly good, of course, were those memories, or maybe those were the memories Eddie _wanted_ to remember. Giggle-filled afternoons as he and Richie went to the park and stared up at the clouds (and shaking his head at whatever lewd shapes Richie described them as being), cold winter mornings before school where they'd lay in the snow and try to make the ugliest snowmen they could think of, sleepless nights where Richie's overactive mind would prompt him to pay Eddie the most inconvenient of visits. At the time, these things proved to be frustrating to the anxious Eddie, who told himself he did those things because, well, it was with someone who was dangerous. Risky. _Dirty_.

And, to Eddie's carefully molded mind, being _dirty_ was the worst possible thing someone could be.

Still, though, Eddie couldn't help but cling slightly to Richie's old shirt as a child does to a favorite worn-down blanket. A blanket that one simply outgrows after time, something that happens to everyone, right? Eddie shook these difficult thoughts from his mind as he made his way down the hallway to the bathroom, knocking on it softly before turning the handle and entering it once more.

* * *

"Hey, don't give me that look- it's the only thing I have that could fit you." Eddie stared at Mike, who raised his eyebrows at the sight of the garish shirt. "Would you rather have me raid my mom's closet?"

"Where did you even find a shirt like that?" Mike shook his head as Eddie handed him the shirt, watching as he crossed his arms and leaned against the back of the door.

"Where do you think?" he scoffed, taking in a short breath before continuing. "Rich- he came over here a lot. He was never really good at understanding boundaries."

"Kinda makes it crazy now, doesn't it?" Mike asked softly as he worked on undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Eddie shrugged as he pushed off from the door, instead choosing to sit next to Mike on the edge of the tub. "Everything is crazy now, Mike. Of everything going on. I think that's the least of our worries." He reached out slowly, taking the cloth in his own hand as Mike struggled to unbutton his shirt. "I, uh... I am glad you came over here, though. I miss you guys."

"You don't have to miss us, Eddie. Just- just hang out with us." "I just make things awkward," he shook his head. "Don't act like I'm the only one staying away, either. We're all just. we're not kids. Things are different now."

"Yeah," Mike agreed softly, understanding fully the painful reality that time often uncovers. "Speaking of different things, did you see Richie's haircut? I was surprised he wanted to get it cut. It took him forever to grow it out."

Eddie frowned as he lowered his hand away from Mike's nose, causing him to lean back a bit in confusion. "It's obvious Richie wasn't the one that wanted the haircut. I bet all of the money in my piggy bank that it was Stan's idea."

"I'm sure Richie wouldn't just do something that someone else told him to do- even if it is Stan."

"He'd learned his lesson with me, Eddie reasoned," gesturing for Mike to toss the balled-up bathroom tissue in the small trash can. "'Oh, I should just do _everything_ my boyfriend tells me to do, then he won't have any reason to get mad at me, even though I am a fucking moron.'"

"I'm telling him about that impression," Mike chuckled, shaking his head when Eddie brought his attention back on the bloody nose in front of him. "When was the last time you talked to him?"

"I don't fucking- last night, I guess," Eddie replied flatly. "He and Stan were on their way to the movies or something. I don't know, Mike- I don't care what he does."

Mike nodded, apologizing when he noted Eddie's annoyance while he was moving around. He opened his mouth to respond, though Eddie continued a bit more frustrated than before.

"Richie is… he's just- you know how he is," he shook his head. "If he wants to be with Stan now, that's- I don't care. I really don't care anymore, Mike. He could get his foot amputated and I would not care."

Mike nodded slightly, staring at Eddie as the shorter teen furrowed his eyebrows and huffed out a breath. "That's not really- we're all still friends, Eddie. You can't just be all apathetic with him; you have to care."

"I don't _have_ to do anything. I don't _have_ to be friends with him, I don't _have_ to care." Eddie dropped his hand, his eyes falling just the same to the cloth that had a new place in his lap. "I get enough of that shit here, you know. My mom telling me what to do all the time- who to be, where to go, all of that. It's... it's suffocating. And then Richie was the same way, he'd just always want to do things. I mean, he's not at all like my mom, but that's what made it horrible. They both wanted everything from me, and I felt like I had to choose between them. I couldn't just be _me_ , I had to be _his_ boyfriend or _her_ son."

"It's okay, Eddie. You don't have to be any of that right now. Just- just be Eddie," he replied softly, grateful for the time and help Eddie had given him. Mike wanted nothing more at that moment to repay the favor, but he was unsure how. "Maybe... maybe you should talk to someone about it. What about Richie? He seems to know the most about your mom, so maybe he would-"

"I don't care about Richie anymore, Mike. I just- I want to do this on my own. I don't need him coming in here, telling me whatever shit he wants to, thinking it'll help, when I just want to figure out how to deal with it by myself," he shook his head. "Maybe _Stanley_ likes that kind of relationship, but I didn't- I don't. Just like how I don't like you trying to protect me when some asshole says the same shit about me that I hear every fucking day."

"It was Stan," Mike said slowly, staring down at his hand in an attempt to avoid whatever response Eddie was undoubtedly struggling to come up with. "Bullies are just bullies, but it- I couldn't let it go because it was Stan."

"What did he say?" Eddie tried to hide the desperation in his voice as he asked, knowing now that though the words themselves didn't mean anything, it was the person who declared them that caused all of this trouble. "Mike, what did he say?"

"I didn't mean for it to happen," he mumbled, avoiding looking up at Eddie as he shook his head. "I- I know you're used to that stuff, but you shouldn't be. And I know that fighting doesn't fix it, but it was _Stan_ , Eddie. He doesn't get to say that stuff and push me and just-"

"He pushed you?"

"I tried telling him to stop it, I guess I was just being overdramatic. He was just... he said you were being a baby. That you don't hang out with us anymore because you're just upset about Richie still when you should be getting over it, and I told him to stop it. He pushed me and I pushed him back and things just- they got bad. I don't know when Beverly got there but she had to pull him off me. I didn't know what to do so I just... I ended up here."

Eddie nodded silently as he stood up and walked over to the sink. "I'm not a baby," he said, wringing out the cloth and folding it neatly before setting it next to the faucet. "But he's right, you know. About Richie."

"You're better off without him." Mike replied flatly. "You deserve better than that- better than someone that won't let you be yourself. You're too great to be forced into being someone else. Richie's our friend, I know, but- but he shouldn't treat you like that either way."

"Sometimes I _want_ to be someone else. I'm nothing but a prisoner in my own home, Mike. My mom is just- I don't get why Stan would want that."

"What do you mean?"

"He _wants_ to be with Richie, he- he's happy being with someone that feels like they have to protect him. Richie just always wants to do things, he wants to plan things, he wants to just... you know how he is. And Stan _likes_ that." Eddie glanced up at his reflection in the mirror as he spoke, feeling his shoulders relax as he recognized himself fully. "I get that his parents don't really pay much attention to him or whatever, but he says that shit like it's _bad_. As if feeling like your mom is constantly staring at you even when she's not here isn't bad at all. I just- why would he want that?"

Mike shrugged as he looked up, taking in a breath as he thought. "You can't compare that stuff. Eddie- it's like you're a prisoner, while he's lost at sea. Both things are bad, but the prisoner and the sailor probably envy each other for different things. The sailor wants stability and authority while the prisoner wants independence- freedom. Stan has too much freedom while you don't have any. I'm sure he wants to have your life just as much as you'd like his, but- you can't hate him for that." He looked up at Eddie, pausing to collect his scattered thoughts. "I think he wants to be with Richie because Richie grounds him, he has enough authority to make Stan feel not so lost. But you- you didn't want to be with him."

"I wanted to feel brave," Eddie sighed as he turned back to face Mike. "Being with Richie made me feel like I was finally doing something that wasn't what my mom wanted me to do. But after a while it just… we're both crazy in our own ways. It didn't feel right anymore, but it's fine. I need time to figure out things by myself, but it's fine."

Mike nodded, smiling sympathetically as he took in the words Eddie was saying. Of course, Mike believed that Eddie didn't need anyone to be brave- that he did that well enough on his own- but he would save that comment for another day. "I'm sorry for the fight, I mean. And for coming over here and wasting all of your time with all this," he laughed nervously. "My point is that I'm sorry for causing trouble. I get what you mean about people protecting you and stuff. I think maybe the best way to protect you is to just let people be people. Including you, of course."

"I don't want you to stop being you, though," Eddie commented softly "You're always good at being positive- you're just a good person. You protect people, but not in a way that overshadows who they are. You're just... thank you."

Mike shook his head in confusion, noticing clearly the anxiety that was slowly growing within Eddie. "What are you thanking me for?"

"You said you were sorry for the fight. Richie never apologized, he was- I don't want people to be proud of that." Eddie took a breath and he stepped closer to Mike, though his growing nervousness kept him from looking at anything other than the tan bandage on his face. "You're not like that, so thank you. You- you know that it wasn't the right thing to do, so it's not like I'll have to be doing this every month Not that this wasn't nice, I think, but you know, it's..."

"Eddie?" Mike tilted his head slightly in confusion, unsure of where Eddie was going with his incessant rambling. He watched apprehensively as Eddie stepped ever-so-slightly closer and closer and well, by then it made all the sense in the world.

The kiss was anything other than those mind-blowing, earth-shattering makeout sessions in the movies, it was awkward, it was dry, it was... dirty. Dirty in the sense that it was messy, it was imperfect. But at the same time, Eddie could feel that unfamiliar softness that he had never experienced before with Richie.

Richie, who was always in a rush, who never wanted to _just slow down_. Mike, on the other hand, wanted exactly that; he didn't want to be anywhere else in the world, he didn't want the kiss to be anything other than what it was. Just a kiss, soft and quick and imperfect, on the edge of the bathtub in Eddie Kaspbrak's blue bathroom.

To Mike, the kiss was something else entirely. It wasn't about how it felt, but what it meant. Not only to him, but to Eddie as well; he could almost feel the genuine joy rising between them and leaving just as gently through Mike's slightly crooked teeth and Eddie's very dry and cracked lips. None of that mattered, of course, as Mike's eyes fluttered open the smallest bit just to capture the smallest glimpse of the freckles that scattered across Eddie's cheeks; freckles that reminded Mike of the constellations that scattered across the night sky just as beautifully and as delicately (though there was nothing about Eddie that made Mike believe for a second he was _delicate_ ).

But, in that short, short moment, they both could appreciate the subtle beauty of the meaningless, of the little things that mean everything and nothing at the same time.

"That was to, uh… to make you feel better." Eddie smiled as he pulled away slowly, reaching a hand up to vaguely gesture to the bandage on Mike's face.

"Of course," Mike replied. Though a lot of things were lost to Mike Hanlon, as they are to everyone, he understood fully that he was not a fighter. And one does not fight with Eddie Kaspbrak.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on tumblr! @kenzie-ann27


End file.
